Eye of the Storm (10 page)

“I hope that we can do that someday,” Will said. “And if you enjoyed sailing when you were younger, perhaps we can take the skiff out to sea once more.”

“Perhaps.” His tone said plainly,
“We will never have the chance.”

It did seem unlikely they’d meet again, with the full force of war ready to waken at any moment. In the quiet of this orderly room Marshall imagined he could feel the winds of battle blowing from far away, the other wall of the hurricane drawing ever closer. “I think the Peace will hold at least until Christmas,” he said. “Winter is a bad time to begin a war.”

“Is there ever a good time?”

“That depends on whom you ask.” Marshall shifted in the comfortable chair, wishing that it were night already so that he could put their plans into motion. He might envy Etienne his peaceful, studious life, but he was not built for this sort of inaction. It was easier to sail into battle than to linger in the doldrums of endless uncertainty.

But the day dragged on, and he had nothing to do until twilight, when he, the doctor, and Jean-Claude would use the dim light to move the skiff down to the shore on the opposite side of the point. Once they had the boat in the water, they would return to the house for dinner, and then a few more hours wait until it was fully dark and the tide was nearing its height.

It seemed the doctor’s appearance had convinced Jean-Claude that Marshall had spoken the truth and was that rare creature, a good Englishman. Or perhaps he was merely looking forward to getting the foreigner off French soil—either way, Marshall was pleased to have his help.

After all the days of waiting, the few remaining hours should have passed quickly. They did not. At Etienne’s suggestion, Will went up to the highest window of the chateau with a telescope and tried to see if he could spot the
Mermaid
somewhere on the horizon, as he had done a few times during his stay.

The attic level of the chateau was more than twenty feet above the ground, which, with the elevation of the hillside, gave him a vantage point immensely higher than the French frigate’s. The clouds had dissipated earlier in the day, and his view out over the ocean was clear and unobstructed.

But the
Mermaid
was nowhere to be seen. Had Davy perhaps given up hope and gone back to report the development to Sir Percy? Or had he had decided to stand even farther out, to avoid being noticed by passing ships?

That did not matter. Davy would keep to the rendezvous, no matter what, just as Marshall himself would if their positions were reversed.

With the
Mermaid
standing in just behind the edge of the cliff that jutted out into the sea on the side of the harbor farthest from the chateau, David Archer made one last, careful check of the chart. It would be worse than pitiful to set such a careful plan only to run the
Mermaid
up on some unexpected reef.

But he would not make such a mistake. After days of anxious anticipation, they’d received word that Dr. Colbert had been seen half a day’s journey away. He would be at the chateau by now, if he was ever going to arrive—and if he was not, it was high time to bring Will back aboard. A bit of outside distraction, enough to lure the French frigate out of the way, and he would swoop in, send a boat out for Will and the doctor, and be away before the slower vessel could return.

The distraction was out of his hands, now. All he could do was wait.

He’d never developed the habit of biting his nails. It was an unsuitable sort of habit for an officer or a gentleman, and given how easily tar got onto everything, it would be damned unpleasant.

It might have helped, though. Almost anything might help.

No. Nothing would help but an end to the waiting. And nightfall was still hours away.

Somewhere in the long days of waiting, Archer had decided he would be going in himself, in command of the boat crew. No doubt Barrow could have handled it well enough, and no doubt Will would be furious.

That was too damned bad.

Will had made a lot of decisions about who was to go ashore on this expedition. But he had never asked Archer to promise to stay aboard the
Mermaid,
and Archer had never volunteered.

If you didn’t want me coming to get you, Captain Marshall, you never should have gone ashore alone.

Seven p.m.

The sun had set, some of the lights in the village had already begun to wink out as people settled in for the night. It was time to see if the plan would succeed.

Marshall and Dr. Colbert donned their coats in the foyer of the chateau. They had taken the boat down, a tremendous struggle in places where the weeds had grown over for years, but shoving the boat down through the undergrowth had cleared the path well enough.

The doctor was speaking quietly to Madame Colbert in the hallway; Etienne took Marshall’s hand. “I wish I could come down to see you off,” he said, “but with these eyes, I might never find my way back up again.”

“It’s better you stay inside where it’s warm.” Marshall clasped his hand. “I cannot say I wish things were otherwise,” he said. “To have one friend I love is more than I had ever hoped for. But if things had been different…”

“Perhaps I too will find such a friend,” Etienne said. “But there are many sorts of love.” He pulled Marshall into an embrace—a friendly one, no more—and kissed him lightly on either cheek.
“Adieu, mon ami.”

The door swung open, admitting a gust of damp, chilly wind. And there, on the broad stone porch, stood five men. One held a lantern; the other four had pistols.

They pushed their way into the foyer, uninvited. The oldest in the group, a sour-faced, thick-bodied fellow, said, “Monsieur Beauchene?”

Etienne inclined his head.
“Oui?”

“I regret that I must arrest you, in the name of the First Consul, on a charge of espionage and treason.”

Chapter Ten

“I beg your pardon!” Madame Beauchene stepped forward, the smallest of them all, cradling her dainty little dog in her arms and somehow all the more formidable for that—perhaps because the dainty little dog’s teeth were bared in a low, rumbling snarl. “What insanity is this?”

“Madame,” the spokesman said, “I am Captain Ulrich duPont, of the national police. We are under orders to follow a suspected spy and arrest whomever he might contact.”

“We have no spies here,” she said indignantly.

“Madame, this man—” he pointed to Dr. Colbert, “has been behaving in a manner of the greatest suspicion. For no reason, he has traveled a great distance to this—forgive me, this place of no importance—”

“This ‘place of no importance’ is my home,” she said. “Dr. Colbert has been a friend of this family since I was but a girl. He came here—” she held her hand out defiantly, displaying a small ring—” to ask for my hand in marriage!”

“
What?
”

Marshall caught himself, but it was too late. DuPont’s slightly bulbous eyes turned his way. “And this
Englishman
—is he also a suitor?”

“Of course I am not.” Marshall stamped hard on his impulse to laugh at the bizarre circumstances. After all the time he’d spent racking his brain for the doctor’s reason in coming here. But though the situation might be ludicrous, there was no humor in the guillotine. “Captain duPont, I am here because my employer, a relative of Dr. Colbert, received a letter requesting that he meet his uncle here.”

“For what reason?”

“To take him home to his family in England, I presume. The letter did not explain his reasons, and there was no way to contact him and ask him to travel by a more conventional route. I swear to you upon my honor, we did not come here for any purpose other than to fulfill this family obligation.” That was true for his purpose in coming to this precise spot, at least.

“Your name?”

“William Marshall.”

“Royal Navy?”

“Not at present. I sought private employment after being released from active service, after the Treaty.”

“And your employer?”

“David St. John, a Canadian trader, aboard the schooner
Mermaid
out of Plymouth
.”

“And where is this schooner?”

Since he could not produce the
Mermaid,
Marshall decided to stick to the truth. “We were not certain that this rendezvous would be looked upon with favor,” he said carefully, “and when I came ashore to find the doctor not yet arrived, Mr. St. John must have left to avoid just this sort of difficulty with your Navy. I am not certain where my ship is at this time.”

DuPont glanced at one of the others, who nodded. “This agrees with what we know from the captain of our ship that has been guarding this place,” he said. “We shall investigate your claim, and if what you say is true, you will be released. But I must also place you under arrest.”

“Monsieur, I am certain that my employer’s uncle is telling the truth—”

“Indeed I am,” Colbert put, shifting so that he stood between Madame Beauchene and the intruders.

DuPont regarded him scornfully. “Doctor, we have questioned many people in Paris, and I assure you, we know you were not there for purely personal reasons. My instructions are to arrest you, and anyone you may have contacted. Madame, you may remain here in your home if you wish, for the present, but in the morning I will return to Paris with these men in custody.”

“In the morning! And I am to welcome you as guests in my home all night?”

“Not at all. You may have your servants pack such things as your son may need, and bring them down to the harbor. These prisoners are going aboard the ship that awaits us below, and we sail for Paris on the morning tide.”

Madame Beauchene said a word that a lady of her refinement should not have known, and stalked off down the hall. When she was clear of the line of fire, Will gauged the distance between himself and the armed men. No good. If duPont’s accusation was true, the doctor might be useful in a fight, but Etienne was as vulnerable as his mother, and he was in the midst of things.

Etienne spoke at last. “Captain duPont, I realize that this situation is extremely peculiar, but I assure you, there is no evil afoot. I have been engaged in mathematical studies on behalf of the Compte de Péluse, of the Senate—”

“Monsieur, your connection is known, and your loyalty is not in questions. Indeed, it was fear for your safety that caused me to bring such a force—to rescue you if need be.”

“You can see I did not require it.”

“That is problematic, m’sieu, but your mother’s social connection with Colbert will be taken into consideration. Still, you must not be perceived to be above the law. You will be allowed to denounce these two and be exonerated, but until then—”

“Denounce them!” The crack of anger in Etienne’s voice was like a pistol shot; Marshall had not expected such vehemence. “Before God, I will not! You cannot expect me to perjure myself for your perceptions—these men have done nothing!”

“As you like. If you wish to make friends of spies and Englishmen it is your neck. Come, there is nothing to be gained by delay.”

The door was swung open again, and Marshall automatically offered Etienne his arm as they were herded down the walkway to the beach. It was as dark as he had hoped it would be, with only the dim starlight reflecting on the white stones that marked the edges of the path. Had these agents of Bonaparte been watching the house all afternoon? Did they know where the skiff lay concealed in the wooded inlet on the other side of the point?

He had to hope they did not, and that he and Colbert could overpower five armed men long enough for them to get Etienne away. Once they were aboard the French ship, all hope would be gone.

“Arrêt ! Nous avons des pistolets !
”

Everyone froze, including Marshall, who would know that voice anywhere but could not believe his ears until Davy said, “Will, get their weapons, would you?”

Dr. Colbert had Etienne’s other arm; Marshall released him with a gentle push toward the doctor, just as duPont whirled and fired at the sound of Davy’s voice.

White-hot rage flamed through Marshall. He threw himself on the Frenchman without thinking, wanting nothing more than to pound him through the gravel path and into the earth. DuPont struggled—it seemed as if he was trying to get to some other weapon, possibly a knife, but Will’s knee pinned the Frenchman’s hand. He grabbed the man’s shoulders and banged his head against the ground until duPont stopped moving. He stopped himself then—not because he wanted to, but because he knew that killing the bastard could be the spark that re-ignited the war.

From the furor around him, it sounded as though everyone had leapt into the brawl, and then it was quiet. Marshall closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Mr. St. John?”

“At your service, sir.” Davy came up behind him, close enough that when Marshall leaned back on his heels, his shoulder touched Davy’s leg. “I hope you didn’t kill him.”

“No, he’s still breathing.” Marshall stayed where he was, enjoying that casual contact. It was dark enough that no one could see. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, certainly, it’s only a scratch.”

His heart stuttered. “You’re hurt? The doctor can—”

“No, Captain.” A quick squeeze on his shoulder belied the formal address. “Literally a scratch. He missed me completely, but they’ve some damned fierce bramble-bushes here. How many did you see? I counted six.”

Will climbed to his feet, made out the dim shapes of Etienne and Dr. Colbert, who both seemed unharmed. “We only saw five.”

“They left a guard outside. He’s trussed up in the shrubbery.” Davy turned to one of his men. “Owen?”

“We’ve got ’em all, sir. Alive, like you said.”

“Good. Awake?”

“Two are.”

“Tie ’em up and bring them along.” In an undertone, he said, “We’ll have to find someplace to put them, something they can’t get out of in a hurry. Will?”

“I don’t know. Just a moment—Monsieur Etienne Beauchene, this is David St. John, my employer and friend.”

“I had guessed that,” Etienne said wryly, offering his hand. “It is good to meet you at last, sir. We have a wine-cellar that can be locked from without, and should serve. What are your plans?”

“Escape, of course. From the sound of things, you may want to join us.” He embraced Dr. Colbert, raising his voice a bit to be sure their prisoners could hear. “Uncle Jacques, are you all right? How could you have caused us such confusion? We would have met you in Le Havre!”

Under Colbert’s loudly expressed apologies and explanations, Davy turned to Marshall. “A diversion will shortly commence. Would you care to take command?”

“Not in the least, sir. It’s your expedition. How did you get here?”

“Around the blind side of the point after nightfall in the boat, then up through the woods. Barrow will bring the
Mermaid
in to pick us up as soon as the frigate’s chased Sir Percy over the horizon.” Davy grinned. “Percy’s holding a revel on his yacht, the fireworks are meant as entertainment, and he’s got some French dignitary or other aboard, so when the frigate catches him, they’ll have to let him go. He does that bird-witted aristo act so very well. Is that your dinghy below?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid we’ll need it. It isn’t just me and the doctor, now. We’ve got to take M. Beauchene with us—he was arrested for associating with the doctor—and Dr. Colbert’s fiancée.”

“His—his
what?”

“And her dog, as well. I don’t think she’d leave the little fellow behind, and it would take a braver man than I am to ask it of her.”

Marshall congratulated himself. For the first time in longer than he could remember, David Archer was rendered speechless. But then the explosions started, somewhere on the other side of the chateau.

“That’s our diversion,” Davy said. “We’d better hurry.”

The next half-hour took on the mad, organized chaos of a ship’s deck during a battle. Madame Beauchene met them at the door with an antique pistol and Jean-Claude brandishing a musket that probably dated back a hundred years, but she happily put the artillery aside when her fiancé explained that the gunfire was caused by an English ship sending off signal rockets to lure the French frigate out to sea. Will went off with Beauchene to help him get his papers together, and Archer supervised the incarceration of their prisoners.

He shook their leader awake once his men were safely locked in the wine cellar. “Sir, I understand you meant to arrest my uncle.”

“Your uncle,” said duPont, “is a spy, and should be executed.”

“Those are harsh words, sir, and I think you are mistaken. Still, I will take him out of your country and he will not trouble you again. Madame Beauchene has asked to accompany my uncle, so I will take her as well. Her son said he ought to stay here at the chateau. He claims to have a friend in the government who can clear up this misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding! It is a crime! Your government will hear of this—sending its agents to attack the official police!”

Time to lay the false trail. “Sir, I am sorry we meet under such difficult circumstances, but Mr. Bonaparte will have to shout himself hoarse to be heard all the way to Canada. I never came here to attack the official police, but my cousin would take it very ill if I allowed anyone to chop off her father’s head. I don’t plan to linger on this side of the Atlantic—Europe is too exciting for a peaceful man like myself.”

He had no idea if the furious Frenchman would believe him, but he knew that David St. John would soon cease to exist in any event. “By the by, I’ve decided to take Mr. Beauchene along despite what he says. We’ll set him ashore wherever he wants to go, but you might tell the captain of that frigate that we have the Senator’s friend aboard, and he should think twice before firing on us.”

The look of uncertainty on duPont’s unpleasant face was a lovely thing. Was Beauchene an escaping criminal, or a hostage? Archer had a fair notion that it would take someone well up duPont’s chain of command to make that decision. Confusion to the enemy!

“We’ve tied up Mr. Beauchene’s servant,” he added. “He should be able to work himself free eventually, and he’ll come down and release you. In the meantime…well, it is a wine cellar, you may as well drown your sorrows.” He nodded to Spencer, who hoisted the trussed-up officer to his feet and pushed him in with his men.

Archer locked the cellar door and met Will at the top of the stairs. “Are you ready?”

Will looked flustered. “I’m sorry—I need a few men to carry some papers.”

“What?”

“Mathematics, Davy. Wonderful stuff!”

For an instant, Archer was afraid Will was going to elaborate on just how wonderful it was, but he stopped himself and explained, “Beauchene’s research. He cannot just leave it behind.”

There was something not quite right in Will’s manner—if Archer had been inclined to suspicion, he’d have called it guilt. Or perhaps it was just Archer’s own seldom-felt jealousy; Beauchene was very handsome and clearly fond of Will. “Is it worth the trouble?”